


Sunday Afternoon

by kinginspanx



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5689855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinginspanx/pseuds/kinginspanx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin came by Harry's house to collect his way overdue mission report, only to find the agent dressed in nothing but an apron.</p>
<p>This is Young Merlahad before both of them confessed their feelings to each other. So expect Harry as the utmost repressed Englishman and Merlin desperately resisting his sexual frustration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tsukiok](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tsukiok).



> Pinch hitted this for a Merlahad Secret Santa gift to tsukiok. The story was inspired by my conversation on twitter with @colincolout about drawing Kingsman agents in nothing but apron after we came across photos of hot guys wearing apron on our timeline lol.
> 
> Anyway, I decided to make a short fic out of it--with some of the dialogues heavily inspired by Mark and Bridget's cooking scene from Bridget Jones!

Merlin fixed his glasses and tried to channel whatever was left of his energy—after overseeing Bors’ mission for almost 48 hours straight—for patience. He was, after all, about to face Harry bloody Hart.

If it’s not for shutting up Arthur who couldn’t stop blaming Merlin for his agent’s spectacular tediousness when it comes to administration, he wouldn’t have been standing at Harry Hart’s doorstep on a bloody Sunday afternoon. After what seemed like a dozen “Oh but it’s your bloody responsibility to make sure that they submit them on time”, he had had enough.

Merlin rang the doorbell and waited for Hart to open the door. A minute and 30 seconds went by—Merlin checked his watch to be precise—and there was no answer. So he rang the bell again. He was getting properly annoyed. _Is it not enough that the posh bastard completely disregard all of my orders as his official handler and constantly neglect his reports—now the tosser can’t even open the bloody door for me?!_

Merlin grunted heavily. Decided not to waste anymore of his precious time with Hart, Merlin reached for his custom-made phone in his pocket and his small toolkit pouch. He knew Hart would probably be upset that he broke into his house—the man has one of the foulest temper Merlin had ever come to deal with—but if he had learnt anything from being Hart’s handler for a month, is that you don’t _EVER_ wait for Harry Hart. The man once had Merlin waiting for 3 hours before finally showing up for his mission briefing, and only to criticize Merlin’s _grievous taste_ in his sweater color.

The door clicked open—it didn’t take Merlin 30 seconds to get pass the security. He was the one who upgraded it, after all—it was one of his first tasks as the new quartermaster: upgrading Kingsman’s security system which he so easily broke into before he was recruited as Merlin, and just casually looking for any highest security systems in the world and challenging himself to break into each one of them.

As he stepped in, Merlin could quickly hear the sound of loud rock music blasting all the way through the living room. He looked around and tried to look for the source of the music as he sank in every bit of details and ornaments decorating Hart’s house. There were a lot of questionable choices of decorative, which seemed to originate from various eras—creepy old photographs, dodgy silverwares, and some of the most peculiar paintings Merlin had ever seen. He wondered whether all of them were Hart’s own choices or just something that was left by the previous Galahad.

Merlin opened the white door from which the music seemed to come from. He was not even halfway opening the door when he saw a blitz of shiny sharp object thrown at him in am incredible speed. Merlin quickly shifted himself to the side and the sharp object landed loudly on the edge of the door.

_A fucking knife?!_ Merlin tried to regain his footing as he inspected the sharp object which now had penetrated the door’s surface.

“Merlin?!” exclaimed a familiar deep posh voice.

Merlin turned around and found none other than Harry Hart himself. Standing a few feet away from him, in an apron… and pretty much nothing else—except maybe a pair of underwear—Merlin _hoped_. His face was smudged with flour and there were stains all over his apron.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Hart’s jaw clenched tightly, his soft brown eyes glaring at Merlin.

“Is this how you greet your guests, Galahad?” said Merlin, trying his best to sound as calm as he usually was.

“ _Excuse me?!_ ” Hart raised an eyebrow, his lips curled in rage.

Merlin couldn’t help but stared at the spectacle before him. Hart being a Kingsman agent and all, Merlin shouldn’t have been surprised to find him in such a great shape. The posh bastard always look so good in all of his bespoke suits—and at times, Merlin could even see glimpses of his biceps sculpted within the surface of the bulletproof fabric, so he’d always imagined that the man must be somewhat in shape.

But to see the youngest Kingsman agent—with his own eyes—in his own deliciously bare skin, with his beautifully muscled contour exposed, standing ever so gallantly in front him—was quite an entirely different experience. As annoying and irritating—sometimes even _despicable_ —Hart could be, Merlin would be lying if he said he had never found him attractive. He would be lying if he said he was never pulled into a pause every time he saw the young agent smiled—or wished him to do it more often so Merlin could glance at his adorable dimples from the distance.

“You were the one who came sneaking around my bloody house in a fucking Sunday afternoon—without so much of a knock on the door—so don’t blame me for properly applying my trained reflexes!” exclaimed Hart with a heightened tone which snapped Merlin back from his thoughts.

“I did knock, I even rang the damn bell, actually. But you didn’t answer— _sir_ ” said Merlin, properly addressing him as if to inform that he was there on business.

He knew damn well not to let emotions get the better of him when it comes to dealing with Harry Hart. The man had been nothing but cold and mean to Merlin ever since they first laid eyes on each other. And the fact that he couldn’t resist him just make the whole thing torturous.

Hart squinted at him and sighed. “What do you want?” He said as he turned around and headed back to what seemed to be his kitchen. The rock music stopped playing.

“I don’t have much time, so be brief” said Hart coldly.

“Arthur has been asking for your latest mission report, Sir”. Merlin followed him into the kitchen.

“He seems to need it quite urgently—“ Merlin paused as he was greeted by the questionable mess that was decorating Hart’s kitchen.

“Really?” said Hart plainly without much thought.

The man’s attention was occupied by some kind of dough-like dish that he was cooking—interestingly enough—accompanied by the help of a pair of chopsticks.

Merlin wondered at the mystery of why Hart—a international super spy with an exceptional IQ—would think a pair of chopstick will do any help at all with his cooking.

“Yes, sir. He—well, you—umm” Merlin struggled with words as he could not look away from Hart, who was then looked like someone who literally came out from a gay porn movie—with him being in nothing but an apron and underwear—flexing his chiseled muscled as he frantically stirred whatever was in the bloody pan.

“Yes? I’m waiting, Merlin. I did tell you to be brief, didn’t I?” said Hart coldly while still stirring.

“We need your report right now—sir” said Merlin as he desperately tried to look away from Hart.

“Right…” said Hart as he shifted his attentions between a recipe book on his right side and the pan in front him—with the same expression he had when he was staring down the circuit board of a bomb that was full of intricate strings of wires.

“I’m still waiting for the part where this is my problem, Merlin” said Hart as he lifted the dough-like dish—that has turned into something like a pancake—and inspected it with a puzzled face.

“Well, it is _your_ mission, sir” said Merlin, getting a tad bit irritated by Hart’s complete lack of responsibility. The man now moved towards his fridge.

“Yes, and I’ve completed it, have I not? Killed the terrorists, defused the bloody bomb— _Christ_ , where the fuck is the fucking tuna?!” exclaimed Hart as he bent down and rummaged through his fridge.

Merlin was about to protest, but he was struck speechless by the sight of Hart’s perfectly sculpted arse that was clearly visible through his almost-translucent white underwear, as the Kingsman agent frantically looked for his bloody tuna.

_Fuck me_. Merlin rubbed his temple exasperatedly and took in a really deep breath. _This bastard just couldn’t give me a break, could he?!_

As if dealing with Hart’s always-perfectly-groomed appearance and daily courteous badgering wasn’t enough, Merlin was almost sure from now on, his Greek-God-statue-arse will haunt him every time he sees him at work.

Just as Merlin started to look away in a desperate effort of distracting himself from—what he refused to accept as—his _sexual frustration_ , he caught a glimpse of a strange coloured pan of liquid on Hart’s stove.

“Bloody hell, is that blue… soup?”

“What?!” asked Hart in an alarmed tone as he swiftly turned around and dashed towards his stove.

“Oh, fuck!” Hart’s eyes widened, horrified by the sight of his blue soup.

Merlin moved closer cautiously—unsure whether he was welcomed—but couldn’t resist his curiosity of the strange dish.

“ _Shit_ , it must have been the strings…” said Hart with a heavy sigh as he stirred the soup to reveal some sort of vegetable that was tied with strings—which Merlin guessed used to be blue.

“Oh, it’s _strings_ soup?” asked Merlin wryly as he couldn’t help but to tease Hart a bit. He probably wouldn’t ever come by a situation like this again, so he thought might as well used the most of it.

Hart quickly turned to him, for a second there was a flash of surprise on his face as he tried to digest Merlin’s words. Merlin was ready for a barrage curse words, when Hart suddenly let out a gentle smile and sighed.

“That would have been funny if I didn’t have James and Martin coming for dinner in about 15 minutes”. Hart leaned at his kitchen cabinet, looking tired.

He pushed back his curly hair that was covering his forehead, and Merlin could swear he had to fight within an inch of his life to keep his stoic face present. He was suddenly struck by the urge to find out what it would be like to run through that beautiful chocolate brown curls of his.

And now the curiosity had developed into a wishful thinking that agent would stop putting products on his hair and just let his natural curls adorn his face freely every day.

“What seems to be the occasion, sir? – _if I may ask_ ” asked Merlin politely as he decided to start a small conversation before being caught lustfully staring at his own superior.

Hart chuckled softly at him. “ _Really, Merlin?_ What kind of handler doesn’t know his own agent’s birthday?”

“Oh!—I’m sorry, sir. I—“ _Shit_ , thought Merlin. He had seen Hart’s file about a dozen times, how _could_ he forgotten, indeed.

“It’s fine, Merlin”. Hart sneered at him, looking satisfied by Merlin’s awkward reaction.

“And stop calling me _sir_. You’re in my bloody house for God’s sake—Arthur’s silly little rules don’t apply here. You can call me by my name”.

Hart flicked a sharp gaze at him and let out a teasing smile. Merlin could feel his cheeks were beginning to turn red as he caught a glance of Hart’s dimples.

“Or have you managed to forget my real name too?”

“No—Of course not”. Merlin turned his face away to hide his blush. “So you were planning to celebrate with a home cooked dinner, then?”

“Well, that _was_ the idea” answered Hart as he reached for the pocket of his apron and took out a pack of cigarette.

Hart was looking around the room when Merlin noticed a lighter hidden beneath his recipe book. He promptly picked it up and offered to light his cigarette. The agent leaned closer forward with a cigarette comfortably placed between his soft lips and Merlin felt like his heart skipped a beat.

“ _Obviously_ I fucked up utterly” said Hart as he drew away and slowly let out a puff of smoke, which—Merlin had never thought he had a thing for this before—made the whole scene a whole lot sexier.

“I highly doubt that any of these are even remotely edible” said Hart wryly.

“Oh, that’s not true, sir…” said Merlin as he looked around the kitchen table.

“You have blue soup to start and—“ Merlin glanced at the opened pages of Hart’s recipe book, “Orange pudding to end, and for main course you have, uh—“ Merlin squinted at a bowl that was placed near the stove. “Congealed green gunge?”

“That is caper berry gravy, actually. And stop calling me _sir!_ ” said Hart as he sucked in the smoke desperately.

Merlin gave him a sheepish smile. He found it adorable that Hart who was always seemed so perfect and confident, with his slicked back hair, perfectly courteous manners—even when he was cursing, and he cursed _a lot_ —and elegant bespoke suits; was now standing in front of him with his hair all messy and curled up, stains all over his face and apron, with almost every skin on his body exposed.

“Do you have eggs?” asked Merlin.

“What?” said Hart as he blew a smoke, caught off guard by the question. “Oh yes, I do”.

“Right, how about an omelet then?” asked Merlin, trying to hide his smile.

“Ah!” Hart’s face lighted up like a puppy and Merlin wondered if he really knew what he was getting into.

“With your caper berry gravy, of course”.

 

* * *

 

 

“You wouldn’t by any chance have beet root cubes?” Merlin turned to Hart as he was whisking the egg in a bowl. Hart only replied him with a plain face. “Mini gherkin? Stuffed olives?”

“No, _Merlin_. And besides, I’m busy. Gravy needs sieving” said Hart with a teasing smile as he poorly sieved the bowl of gravy in front of him with a spoon.

“Surely not, just stir it, _Harry_ ”. Merlin grabbed the spoon—his fingers accidentally grazed Hart’s—and stirred the gravy. Hart tilted his head to the side and gave him a gentle smile.

“What?” asked Merlin—almost convinced that he was blushing then.

“That was the first time you called me by my real name” said Hart softly, his soft brown eyes locking at Merlin’s.

“Well, you did ask me”. Merlin swiftly looked down to hide his face and tried to occupy himself by whisking the egg again. Hart chuckled softly.

“I think we both deserves a drink, don’t you think?” Hart reached for a bottle of wine on the table and filled out two glasses for them.

Merlin raveled in the moment as he watched Hart elegantly poured the wine. He still couldn’t believe the Kingsman agent, who—before this afternoon—never let a second passed by without criticizing or badgering him in his cold manner, had been chatting with him in such a warm and friendly manner. He didn’t think Hart would ever like him enough to do that.

“Come on, put that down. Let’s have a drink”. Hart offered Merlin one of the glass with a smile.

Merlin accepted the glass as ordered, and it occurred to him that today was probably the most he had seen Hart smiled—and even more rarely— _at him_. Usually Merlin would only get either a scowl, frown, or just a plain cold expression.

“Happy birthday, Harry” said Merlin, trying really hard not to gush and smiled to widely at his superior.

“Thank you, Merlin” said Hart before raising his glass and inviting Merlin for a toast.

They shared a little peaceful silence as they sipped their wine. Merlin could feel Hart’s gaze carefully tracing him and Merlin couldn’t move, nor could he think of anything to say.

“So” said Hart softly as he broke the silence. “You’re apparently a tech genius _and_ a great cook—is there anything you can’t do, Merlin?”

“Aye”. Hart raised a brow at Merlin’s response.

“Getting you to follow my orders” said Merlin innocently.

Hart let out a giggle. Merlin suddenly felt a fuzzy warm feeling on his stomach as he listened hia giggle. He thought it was probably the most adorable sound he had ever heard in his life.

“I’m afraid that one is a lost cause” said Hart with a teasing smile.

“I haven’t given up yet” answered Merlin.

“Good. I’d be _terribly_ disappointed if you did” Hart gazed sharply into Merlin’s eyes again as he took another sip of the wine.

They fell into another silence as Merlin tried to figure out whatever the hell Hart meant with his last words, not to mention the way he _looked_ at him. All of Hart’s attitude throughout the afternoon was so alien to Merlin, that he dare not to assume anything. _The wine bottle was half empty, maybe he had had a little too much?_

“So I’ve heard about the water tank business with the new recruits— _excellent_ idea, by the way” said Hart.

Merlin scoffed a little. “Thank you. Arthur didn’t seem to share your opinion, though. Quite understandable—given I almost drowned all of them”.

“Well, I personally think those spoiled brats deserved the experience. If you ask me, I think Arthur has gone a bit soft. I remember they blew up the floor above the barracks and had it collapsed on top of me on my first night there”. There was a flash of horror in Hart’s eyes as he recollected the memory.

“That’s a bit much, in’nit?” replied Merlin.

Hart shrugged. “And it didn’t help that I had to carry one of the recruits whose leg was broken by the falling ceiling either”.

“Wait, you had to carry him _and_ escaped the collapsed roof?!” asked Merlin in disbelief.

“Well, I couldn’t bloody leave him, could I?” said Hart plainly as the experience was nothing but normal.

Hart was 4 years older than Merlin, but he was around 19 when recruited. He couldn’t imagine how Hart could survive those grueling Kingsman tests in such a young age. He was the last agent to be recruited in such a young age, there’s a youngest age limit now when it comes to recruitment. Statistics showed that throughout Kingsman history, 99% of recruits who were under 21 always failed the process and about 60% of were gravely injured. In fact, Hart was the only surviving recruit under the age of 21 in history who successfully went on to become a Kingsman agent. And Merlin could speak from first-hand experience that the man did not fail his reputation. Hart was always a beautiful and powerful force in the field—despite always disobeying Merlin’s orders, of course. And the fact that he didn’t abandon his fellow recruit during the first test—where almost 100% of the recruits _always_ failed—showed that he was not just a cold hearted and skillful agent, but also a person that was capable of compassion.

“I also heard about Budapest” said Hart.

The words snapped Merlin out of his thoughts and jolted a very painful memory. Despite being recruited as a handler, Merlin had to go through the same training process as any normal Kingsman recruits, for the reason that a handler might—on some occasions—be required to assist their agents in the field. Merlin _loved_ being in the field, he loved the adrenaline, the feeling of real contribution. Which is why he was so devastated when the doctor pronounced him to be unfit for field mission— _for the rest of his life_ —because of the grave injuries he got from being tortured for three days in Budapest.

Merlin stayed silent as he prayed that Hart wouldn’t ruin everything that had happened this afternoon. He prayed that, for just this one, Hart would stay off it.

“I understand that you are not allowed to go on field missions anymore?”

Merlin didn’t dare to look at Hart’s face. He took a deep breath and bit his lips. “No, I am not”.

_Please. Please, don’t._

“I am delighted to hear it”.

_That’s it_! Merlin looked up and glared at Hart, who was staring at him with his cold expression that was so familiar to Merlin.

“Look, are you and Arthur in this together?! I mean, you seem to go out of your way to make me feel like a complete failure every time I see you—and you really needn’t bother!” Merlin couldn’t help but raised his voice at Hart—his superior, but he couldn’t give a single fuck anymore. The bastard had crossed the line.

“I already feel like a complete failure most of the time anyway—with or without my handicap!”

Merlin took a deep breath as he collected himself and waited for Hart to respond. But he was replied with nothing but a cold, unfeeling face. He so wished for him to say something—he wasn’t even expecting an apology—just anything to show that he was really capable of the compassion that Merlin had expected of him.

Merlin shook his head and let out a self deprecating scoff. “I should go. Lancelot and Percival should be arriving soon, I don’t want to intrude your dinner”.

Merlin put down the wine glass on the table. “I assume you’re capable of finishing the omelet by yourself. You just need to fry the bloody thing”.

Merlin took a last look at Hart, still desperately wishing he would say something despite everything. Hart was still standing there silently with the same expression.

“Good evening, sir. Have a nice dinner” said Merlin as he walked passed Hart on his way out of the kitchen.

Merlin pondered on how silly it was for him to think that he would have a chance of having a normal casual work relationship with Hart. It was even more shameful that he had the delusion that Hart actually liked him too.

“Merlin”.

Hart was calling his name from the distance, but Merlin didn’t stop, in fact, he walked even faster. He wanted to run away.

“Merlin!” the sound now louder.

But Merlin didn’t care. Hart had hurt him enough, he didn’t want to hear anything more from him. He didn’t want to fall into a wasteful hope again. He just wanted to forget everything.

Merlin was about to open the front door when he felt a strong grip on his left arm that spun him backwards in an instant. And without even having the chance to process what happened, Merlin suddenly felt a touch of warm soft lips tightly pressing on his.

The kiss was so gentle and full of passion at the same time. But before Merlin could reply, the other man slowly drew away, releasing his strong grip on Merlin’s arm. He opened his eyes to find Hart a mere inches away from him. His soft brown eyes sharply staring at Merlin’s, only now there was a tinge of pleading in his gaze, and a faint of guilt.

“I don’t think you’re a failure at all” said Hart softly. Merlin didn’t realize how big his eyes were before, now they were staring at Merlin like a sad puppy.

“I’m delighted that you won’t be on the field anymore because I could never bear watching you get hurt. The Budapest—“ Hart gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched.

“I thought I’ve lost you”.

Merlin was unconscious when he was saved from his torturers, and Arthur—nor any Kingsman agents and staffs—never told him who it really was that saved him, as it was against order for anyone to save Merlin. The place was too dangerous and Arthur didn’t want to risk losing anymore agent for the sake of saving a _handler_. Merlin never hated Arthur for it though, everyone who was tasked in the field knew the risk and so did Merlin. He was ready to die.

“You weren’t breathing, Merlin. There was so much… blood… I couldn’t—“

“It was you”. Merlin stopped Hart halfway. “You were the one who saved me…”

Hart didn’t reply. He stood there in silence, and Merlin could see flashes of horror in his eyes, just like when he was describing his first night as a recruit. Only now, there was a glimpse of deep sadness in it too.

“But… why? You hate me…” Merlin looked at Hart with a desperately puzzled expression. He didn’t know what to think. Everything felt like a blur now.

“Of course I hate you! You turned me into a bloody mess every time I see you!” exclaimed Hart with a desperate tone.

He let out a loud grunt and turned away from Merlin. Hart looked up and took a deep breath, as if gathering any energy he had to say his next words.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you since the very first time we met, and it’s so bloody inconvenient!” Hart rubbed his temple, and sighed deeply.

“You were always so bloody professional, and everything was always about work—so I know that _clearly_ my feeling wasn’t reciprocated. But you’re always _there_! You and your bloody _accent_ are always _everywhere_!” Hart turned to face Merlin again, his face was red and desperate.

“I mean, I could accept that you have no feelings for me, but when the person that you want to get over is _literally_ with you for almost everyday— _whispering_ in your ears—it is fucking _frustrating_!!!”

Hart stopped for awhile to catch his breath. His face now properly flushed in red.

“I mean, for God’s sake, I don’t even know your real name, Merlin…” said Hart softly, sounding heavily tired.

Merlin was rendered speechless. Out of all the things that he had hoped for Hart to say, this was clearly so far from it. His brain couldn’t process it all.

“Right… silence is golden…” said Hart as he stared at Merlin, demanding a response.

Merlin really wished he could reply him. He wished he could shout at him how wrong that he thought Merlin had no feelings for him, how joyful that he had finally known that they shared the same feelings, and how ridiculous it was that both of them acted so foolishly around each other instead of showing their true feelings. But all of those thoughts were so jumbled together, and Merlin was still so shocked by Hart’s confession that he was quite literally turned into stone.

Merlin could see Hart’s patience diminishing by the seconds from his gaze, and finally, the agent sighed and put each of his hands on his hips.

“You know what? Forget everything I said. I apologize for any inconvenience, Merlin. You will have my report on your desk first thing tomorrow morning”. Hart’s face turned cold again, but Merlin could still see the sadness in his eyes.

“I won’t waste anymore of your time, you may leave, Merlin”. And with that Hart turned away and started walking away.

Everything felt like a daze. Merlin felt like he was sleepwalking, like it was all a dream. He still couldn’t process the reality—but one thing was sure for him: he loved Harry and he didn’t want to lose him.

And without even realizing it, Merlin’s hand was already grabbing Hart’s arm—though his grip was not nearly as strong as Hart’s.

“It’s Sean”.

Hart turned back to him with a puzzled face.

“My real name… it’s Sean…” said Merlin shyly. He was too embarrassed to look at Harry in the eyes, but he made sure not to let go of Harry’s arm.

Then he felt Harry’s hand gently moved, slowly turning Merlin’s grip. His skin shivered as Merlin felt Harry’s fingers gently stroking his hand. The agent slowly stepped forward, patiently closing the distance between them as if giving Merlin enough time to decide if he wanted to welcome him.

Merlin finally had the courage to look up and meet Harry in the eyes. He let out a silent gasp as Harry was already so close to him that he could feel his warm breath on his own cheeks.

“May I, Sean?”

Harry’s soft brown eyes gazed at Merlin so gently, his lips curved softly, forming a polite teasing smile. Merlin needn’t say a word, he leaned slowly forward to meet Harry halfway.

This time Harry’s kiss started more gently, it was as if he was savoring an old longing, he wanted to let the time went slowly, almost freezing the moment. Merlin was more than happy to follow his rhythm as he was yearning for the same thing.

Then as Harry’s hands started to cup his cheeks tenderly, Merlin could feel his tongue softly licking his lips. Just as he was about to reciprocate, the doorbell rang.

Merlin gently drew away. “I think that’s Lancelot and—“

Harry kissed him again, as his hand ran through Merlin’s hair on the back of his head.

“They can bloody wait”.

Merlin was about to protest but Harry’s hand drew his head forward and he was once again greeted by Harry’s tongue, now properly dancing inside his mouth.

Merlin was about to wrap his arms around Harry when the door suddenly opened to reveal Lancelot and Percival. He quickly drew himself away from Harry and tried to look as calm as possible.

“Well, well…” said Lancelot with a sleazy teasing smile.

Percival on the other hand, looked as plain as ever. He turned to Harry and casually asked, “Is he joining us?”

Merlin turned to Harry and found him smiling gleefully like a 12 year old boy at Percival and Lancelot. He then turned to Merlin.

“Yes, of course” said Harry.

He then grabbed Merlin’s hand and started walking away from the door. Merlin was happy that Harry held his hand, but at the same time worried by what the other two agents would think of the public display affection.

Just as he turned his face to glance at the Kingsmen, Merlin could faintly hear them talk.

“I won! You owe me 50 pounds, dear” said Lancelot with a smile.

Percival softly grunted. “I expected Harry to be more English than this. Disappointing”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
